


Color Envy

by Nonbinary_Bean102



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Artist!Reader, Beetlejuice Has Mood Ring Hair (Beetlejuice), But we're going to fix that, Definitely Musical!BJ, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enjoy!, Gender Dysphoria, I might draw what Reader does because Musical!BJ is adorable, I won't apologize for that, NonBinary!Reader, Other, Reader has depression, Reader has no connection to Lydia the Deetzes or the Maitlands, Reader just generally doesn't take care of themselves, Reader teases him about it relentlessly, Really slow burn fic, So we're going to say Musical!Universe but up and slightly to the left, Sorry the Tags are so long, also reader is totally a gay musical nerd, binding, heard most of the songs but not the talking inbetween, i am definitely projecting, just in case, leave me alone, possible references to other musicals, possible references to songs, reader has anxiety, this is as close as I can get to actually jumping into fictional universes, this is my first ao3 fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:12:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonbinary_Bean102/pseuds/Nonbinary_Bean102
Summary: In which Reader teases Bj about his mood ring hair, and our favorite demon attempts to engage in a friend connection with an emotionally overwhelmed and struggling artist who doesn't have the slightest idea on how to start loving themselves again.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader
Comments: 21
Kudos: 39





	1. Business Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader finds themselves beginning another day at work with a really important client. But a weird business card shows up and doesn't seem to want to leave.

You were out for far too long.

 _I’ll just walk for 20 minutes_ , you said. _Just one more song,_ you said. _It’s not like I can’t find my way back home._ Trouble though, is that it wasn’t a problem that you’d gotten lost but that you’d lost track of time. By the time you get back from your “20 minute walk”, it’s well past 2 in the morning. And you have work. Which you have to get up for in less than 4 hours.

 _Ya know, if you just kept all your shit together…_ a little voice in the back of your head taunts.

“Shut up,” you say to yourself as you get under the covers.

* * * * *

_BEEP BEEP BITCH- RISE AND SHINE_ , your alarm clock screams at you. It screams for a good three minutes before you summon enough energy to stumble out of bed and shut it off. _Do I have time for a shower?_ You think about it, and yes you do. Of course you do. But you don’t have the energy, so you just grab your washcloth, run it under the water in the sink and scrub at your skin until you’re red. _That should do it for now._ You spray some dry shampoo in your hair and tease it before brushing it back down into the style you want for the day. It’s not extravagant, but it’ll do.

You put some deodorant on, get dressed for the day in a low-effort business casual outfit, and almost religiously spray some cologne and breath spray, hoping it would hide the fact that you haven’t showered or brushed your teeth in a few days. Slipping on your shoes, you head out the door with your bookbag slung over one shoulder. You want to play music on your bike ride over to your commission office, but realize you don’t have your headphones in your bag. _Oh well._ And you lock the door and pedal away.

* * * * *

You run your hands down your face. _Oh my god._ This was going to be the first time anyone had paid thousands of dollars for your art, and with the amount of work it was going to require, it would be well worth it.

You scan the commission notes you had gone over with your client. The piece would take seven pretty large canvases and lots of paint, time, detail, and patience. _Seven deadly sins, huh?_ First would come the thumbnail sketches which then had to be emailed to your client for approval… well, usually. This time around, your client requested that you just take whatever time you needed and painted what you thought the theme she had in mind should look like. The only thing she had told you was that they needed connecting elements. To bind the canvases together when they were placed on the long wall in her sizable art gallery of a home.

And damn, with the creative freedoms gifted you and what you were getting out of it money-wise, you could fly if she asked you to.

You spread what little notes you have out on your desk and find the ones that have no artistic themery on them, which ends up being most of them (the client left you with a lot of technical info, such as timing, payment, and delivery options that you simply didn’t want to forget when writing down all the useful bits), stacking them and setting them in a side drawer. What you’re left with are very vague descriptions of the seven deadly sins and the colors that could be associated with them, though that is completely subject to change.

After sketching thumbnails and trying on color palettes for five hours, you headed to the corner closet to check on supplies and discovered that you’d need to order at least two more canvases of the requested size. You sighed. _It’s fine - at least I remembered to check now rather than later. Besides, it’s not like I pay for gas often or anything. I’ll just order them tomorrow. Or when I get home._ You paused and chewed on the inside of your cheek in thought for a second. _Or I’ll just do it now. Just in case. So I don’t forget. It’d be easier than setting an alarm anway. I’d probably see the alarm, turn it off thinking I’ll remember it in a few minutes, and then forget to do it anyway._

You shake your head to chase away your one-track thoughts before they get too far and pull open your small laptop. You check your bank account on your phone before ordering the canvases, and realize with a sigh that you’ll have to pull an extra five dollars from what you consider your savings, even though it’s all technically in one account.

Your finger clicks _‘Finalize Order’_ before you can think too much about it and you look back at the numbers that stare out at you from your phone screen. _Almost._

You’ve been saving up for top surgery for six years now. The estimated cost you’d been given was a whopping $7,800 and you had known too many people that had trouble with insurance going back on their word to trust your own insurance with covering any of the cost. You’ve been working hard since that day to save all your money to pay upfront, but something was always breaking or needing replaced. So you started cutting unnecessary things out. And now, well. You bike to your little office when you have to go. (It’s quite a nice office, with just you being there. It isn’t a “professional” office or company owned, but it’s a ground level apartment-sized space with no walls to separate the place into rooms, just big enough for a desk and your supplies closet. You do most of your painting in your house anyway, so it works out.) You don’t go to restaurants or eat out. You slowly stopped driving out to visit your friends as much, which unfortunately resulted in some mostly unintentional cutting of ties. You tried to avoid buying new clothes. But it was okay. Ever since your art had gotten more recognition and your social media pages actually shaped up to be professional but fun, the pay had gotten better, and while you weren’t rich, you were by no means poor, and could afford to put more of your savings every year into that top surgery corner of your bank account.

This commission will be it - this will be what tips everything from scary territory into being able to get your surgery and not be scraping for scraps months afterward. As you clean up your space and push the folder of art notes into your bookbag, you notice a piece of purple paper laying underneath your desk. You bend over and pick it up.

“ _Life too boring? Need some spice? Wanna try magic? A conjuring will suit all those needs, if you only conjure up one feisty demon - you know his name! Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse!!!”_

You frown at the card. You definitely do not remember picking this up anywhere else, and you’re sure you’ve kept the office door locked at all times. So a bit bewildered, you rip it in half to hear the satisfying noise the cardstock makes before tossing it in the trash and locking the door on your way out.

* * * * *

Finally gathering up the resolve to take a shower, you undress, bring your binder into the bathroom with you, and fill the sink with water, borax, washing soda, and your powdered detergent. You turn the shower on and wait for it to heat up before taking your robe off and hanging it up. Which is when you glance at the sink and realize that it’s been way longer than you thought since the last time you stripped your binder. After a slight shudder and pulling a face, you slip into the shower and let the hot water pour over your back, your neck, your hair, your face. You want to drown in the warmth and just exist in this one moment forever.

But you only have so much hot water, so you sigh and get cleaned up, electing to just sit on the shower floor mat when you’re done. Eventually you get out and leave your binder stew sitting in the sink. _I’ll just leave it overnight at this point; fish it out and dry it tomorrow morning._

As you pass your nightstand your eyes clip over something purple and you scrunch your nose in confusion and irritation. You walk over and pick up the same business card from your office, noting that it’s been taped on the back with two pieces of masking tape overlapping each other in an X shape.

“Whatever,” you say, and toss it into your nightstand drawer with a huff. You do not have time to deal with shenanigans, no matter what the source may be, and you are tired. Exhaustingly so.

So you neglect to put your pajamas on and instead just lay on top of your blankets, hugging a pillow close and curling up a bit, waiting for sleep to come.

* * * * *

You awake with a chill that gives you whole body shivers and paper on your face. Business cards, specifically. The same kind that you had thrown away and stuffed into your nightstand drawer. All with the same name - _Betelgeuse_.

You cave and pull your phone off its charger to look up who or what Betelgeuse is. And you find out that it is a star. Which does not alleviate your bewildered and somewhat anxious curiosity. At all. But you have sketches to work on and breasts to flatten. Preferably before you puke whatever you must have snacked on last night for everything to look and feel so weird. Because there are definitely not twenty business cards for a star on your bed.

You speed walk to your bathroom, grab your binder from out of the sink, and take your hair dryer to it. It may not be what you’re supposed to do, but you need instant relief, and the mirror seems too big to hide from. All of a sudden, all you can think of is getting the damn binder on, and you won’t breathe normally until you’ve gotten there.

It takes a few minutes, but when it’s finally dry enough to pull over your head, you take a few deep breaths, try to banish the few tears that spill from the corners of your eyes, and look in the mirror to readjust things until they sit right in their prison. Once your nerves settle, you turn around and put your robe back on enough to walk into your room and grab some boxer briefs. You think about sketching in just your binder and briefs, but upon arriving at your desk, decide that maybe putting a sweatshirt and sweatpants on would be to your benefit.

 _It is way chillier in here than it should be._ You face the dresser in order to grab whatever lazy clothes are the closest to the top in the drawers, but stop when you see your bed. Which still has cards on it. But now there are closer to fifty.

You glare at the sight and stomp over to angrily throw them all away in the trash. When you’re done, you continue stomping to get back over to your dresser and put on a pair of sweatpants and a thin but comfortable stretchy hoodie. You walk to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and try to act as a self-comfort unit.

“Now, listen to me,” you say, staring yourself in the eyes. “There are no more cards because there is no one in this house but us and things can’t just appear at random. We’re done with this little charade of madness, and we’re going to go sit down at our desk and sketch out more detailed versions of what we want to paint and I SWEAR TO HADES IF THERE IS ANYONE IN THIS HOUSE EITHER GET OUT OR KILL ME. THE CARDS ARE A NO GO!!”

 _One deep breath. Two. Okay. All better. At least for now._ And you walk into your room to find not only your bed, but your desk, dresser, window, and floor absolutely engulfed in business cards. You blink. Rub your eyes. Blink again. And walk out of your house. Reaching into your pocket for your phone results in pulling out yet again another business card and your nerves feel shot. You’re not scared - you’re angry. _What the fuck is going on today?!!!_

And make no mistake, when you find the one responsible, you’ll tear them a new one. You don’t know how yet, but that doesn’t matter. What you need right now is some music and some space. So you bike to your office and tell yourself that it is okay to take a day off, especially since today is Saturday.

You put your headphones on, tighten them so they won’t fall off, and blast ‘ _Opinions_ ’ by CG5 in your ears, doing whatever moves come to mind. It’s not graceful, and it’s not without anger, but it’s something. And techno music fades into musicals somewhere along the way. Soon enough, Veronica and JD are screaming in your ears and you’re belting along the words to ‘ _Meant to be Yours_ ’. You don’t realize how loud you’re being until someone taps you on the shoulder.

You had left the door unlocked in your initial frenzy, so you aren’t shocked that someone was able to come in. But you jump and remove your headphones, the beginnings of ‘ _Big Fun_ ’ playing softly from around your neck. You turn around, quick to apologize. But there’s no one there. And you feel cold again. And all of a sudden, any and all good the music had done for your mood vanishes.

You storm out, lock the door to your office, and walk your bike back home. You play some mindless metal music with your headphones firmly on your head and head with confidence to your room where at your desk sits a single business card, green this time. You wipe it off the desk as if it’s dust and get to work on making somewhat detailed sketches for Greed and Pride, completely abandoning the idea of trying to have a peaceful Saturday.

You’re not sure how you feel about the greed sketch by the end of the hour, but as you move on to the pride one, you know exactly what you want to capture, and make quick work of your idea.

* * * * *

When you’re done for the day, you let your song die out and close out of your Spotify app. You leave your headphones on for a bit, just in case you need to return to noise, and sit back in your chair. _I was going to give them a piece of my mind. But maybe I’ve been too boring for too long, and they’ve given up by now. Maybe they’re gone and I can take a nap._

Slowly, you remove your headphones and set them on the desk with a content sigh. You flop on your bed to get a proper stretch in before thinking about how you should probably eat something. _But I’m really tired. I’ll eat something when I get up_ \- and the digital clock seems to stare you in the face. It’s already three in the afternoon, and because of the morning fiasco, you didn’t even eat breakfast. _Oh well. Food is later. Sleep is now. And a proper meal can be had at two in the morning if need be. Because it’s not like I can fuck my schedules up much more than I have already._

You crawl under the sheets and realize you can’t wear your binder to bed. So no nap. You roll your eyes exasperatedly. _Good. Fine. Guess I’ll just… I don’t know. Maybe I’ll snack on the ice cream and pocky in my freezer? I could do some drawings for fun._

You end up listening to music on your couch, eating ice cream and feeling fat and lazy for doing so, but you really don’t have the energy to argue with yourself, so you let it be for the moment and just close your eyes.

* * * * *

When you open them again, your bowl and spoon are on the floor, YouTube is playing a song you don’t know on your phone, and it is now 8:00pm. Which means you accidentally slept in your binder, and now you can’t move or breathe very well.

You manage to take slow breaths enough to sit up. And you agonizingly slide your hoodie off to get at your binder. Which you take off with much grief and many bad thoughts, mostly about how stupid you were for not taking it off when you first felt tired. But at least now you can breathe properly.

You walk the binder to your room, toss it in the corner somewhere, and shrug the hoodie back on, kicking off your sweatpants to just curl up on your bed.

 _Stupid. You just took a five hour nap. You shouldn’t be tired, but you are, which is probably because you didn’t eat anything but junk today._ You attempt to argue that it takes too much energy to go back downstairs and make real food to eat. But you end up silenced by your bad thoughts.

_Fucking useless lump of shit. You only worked two hours today, and you couldn’t even bother to take care of yourself for the rest of the day. You only made things worse, which is the opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing. And now you have to lay here and deal with the fact that you still have a chest. But I guess you deserve that since you didn’t take care of yourself today at all._

You can’t do anything but drown in the track of guilt that your brain has started paving the way for, so your body tries to drown itself too - in tears. And you end up crying yourself to sleep, just wishing that you’d been born in the right body so you wouldn’t struggle so much to take care of this one.

* * * * *

Unbeknownst to you, as you sleep, a chilling presence snaps a card into your hand.

_“Need some rest? Some peace? Nah! But what you do need is a fun and lively member of the household to spice things up - trust me baby, you won’t regret it! Remember, all you gotta say is Betelgeuse three times in a row, and you’ll get all the good times you require!”_


	2. Ghost With the Most

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader meets BJ, and they're not too happy about it. Also known as "Betelgeuse is an annoying, anger-inducing little shit, and reader is just trying to have a good day."

When you wake, you’re holding another goddamn card. You sigh. “I swear to the moon, I will eat the next one of these cards that magically appears in my house.”

And of course that sentence bites you in the ass when the next card appears to your side out of the corner of your eye during your morning breakfast bagel. _Well. Might as well entertain whatever creature heard me say I’d eat their card_ , you think. So you walk over to your blender, throw in some oatmeal, milk, and strawberries, and tear the business card into tiny pieces that you sprinkle on top of your oatmeal mush concoction. What little pieces of paper don’t get blended all the way are soggy and gross, but it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever had, so you pack it all up in a to-go mug and put a spoon and straw in your bag so you have options when you get to your office.

You warn the invisible entity that you will not be eating any more of their cards as you walk out the door and pick out some cycling music.

* * * * *

You continue on like this for about a week, slowly getting more comfortable and chill with whatever the fuck is going on, before things start getting chaotic. Unnervingly so. Where the entity had kept to the house before (minus the very first business card), they now creep into your office, invading your studio, supplies, and desk spaces at all hours of the day. Cards appear on the floor, stuck to the wall, in your desk drawers, wrapped around your pencils, between canvases, and even in your food. Each day they appear in slightly more chaotic places and continuously increase in numbers until you start getting mad again. About two weeks into all this madness, your notes and color swatch papers fly off your desk in a sudden whirlwind and land all over the room.

“Okay that is ENOUGH!!!” You glare and stomp and continue to shout at the creature stalking you.

But the office craziness is nothing compared to your house. After the paper incident, any tiny amount of sleep you usually try to get disappears. You don’t have the energy to work on your paintings, your one meal and a snack a day dwindles to a half a meal to avoid riding your bike or driving anywhere to get more food, and the business cards cover every. Single. Fucking. Surface.

It’s around eight in the morning when you hear your phone ding. Your best friend Jamie is coming over and she’s bringing you a care package as an apology for staying away so long, apparently. You lazily type out that she doesn’t need to bring anything with her. But she just sends back a hearty:

“ _PFFT - spoiling you is my guilty pleasure and I haven’t seen you in over a year. Shut up bitch, I’m bringing some self-care your way. Please tell me you’ve been eating and sleeping_ ”

You: “ _Pshh. Been trying to. Have this ginormous project to work on, but these past couple weeks have been rough. Like - 2 weeks ago? Annoying. But this week… BLEUGH_ ”

Jamie: “ _Nuh-uh. That’s gonna end tonight. Consider me a permanent resident for at least a week, cause I packed clothes and took some time off work. And you’re going to take care of yourself dammit. … Do I have to force feed you?_ ”

You laugh and tell her that won’t be necessary. Then comes the task of getting up and semi-dressed before she arrives.

Your last clean pair of shorts and a sweatshirt you’ve worn once since last washing it becomes your outfit. “Now all I need is my binder.”

…

You pull back your sheets, drop to the floor and look under the bed, toss everything around in your almost empty dresser, throw all the clothes on your floor around, and frantically look around your bathroom.

_It’s not here._

You run out to your living room, search your kitchen, and look everywhere for a second time.

Then a third.

Then a fourth.

“Where is it? … Where is it?!!”

You spin around and bare your teeth.

“Did you take it? You fucking took it! GIVE IT BACK YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF-”

  
  
  


And that is how your best friend finds you. Topless. In your shorts. Crying and shouting at the air to give you back your binder. Surrounded by business cards. So she closes the front door, grabs your sweatshirt from your room, hands it to you for you to put on, and starts picking clothes off your bedroom floor to start a load of laundry while you cry your anger out in a crunched, rocking, ball.

You hear the washer start up and try to calm your erratic breathing while Jamie walks back over to you and sits down beside you to wrap you in a hug. She rocks with you and pets your hair, knowing you’ll talk if and when you’re ready. But you don’t feel like explaining yourself, so you lift your head, wipe your tears, and give her a watery smile.

“I’m sorry. I was only supposed to be tired when you got here. Not a blubbery mess.”

“You’re fine, bug. Just one of those days, huh?’

“More like several weeks, but sure.”

She purses her lips. “Alright. Well I’m still making my favorite nonbinary bean share the sweets I bought on the way up here. Donut or cupcake?”

* * * * *

You and Jamie are laughing up a storm when she suddenly gives you a raised eyebrow. “So what’s with all the business cards? Is Beetle-gise a new pseudonym you’re using or something?”

You lean back on your hands and pull your legs in criss-cross style. “No. They just started showing up. Honest to Hades.”

“Persephone too?”

“Yes, Persephone too. Anyone you want me to swear to, I will.” You sigh. “Maybe things’ll calm down now that you’re here, but oh my moon I just can’t with this Betelgeuse… THING. I don’t even know.”

“Beetle… juice?”

“Yeah,” you start. “Apparently it’s the name of a star, but-” A cold chill runs through you, and a purple and green business card floats down from the ceiling.

Jamie looks at you. “Wait, was that there before?”

You shrug. “Who knows?”

* * * * *

A hand on your shoulder shoves you awake and you jump back, almost falling off the couch. “What, what, what?”

You hear Jamie laugh. “It’s almost noon. Didn’t you wanna work on your paintings? Base coats or something?” You groan in response. “Boy, that valerian oil really knocked you out, huh?”

You rub the sleep from your eyes. “Yeah, but it smells like ass.”

* * * * *

The rest of the week and a half that Jamie stays over is filled with movies, stuffed animals, actually getting sleep, and probably too many sweets per day. When she finally decides you can be left to your own devices, she packs her stuff back up and forces you to promise to call her on the weekends so she can keep up with you. As she drives away you can’t help but think, _I wonder how long the self-care routine will stick this time. Two days? Three? Maybe a whole week if I’m lucky._ A card flutters down in front of you and you sigh. _Though, probably not with this going on._

The card reads the same basic premise as the last several hundred or so. But instead of a clever quip, it just says Betelgeuse three times, the back simply telling you to “ _Just say it already!_ ”

You laugh and tear up the card. “No chance, buster. Not until you give me my binder back.”

* * * * *

And you were right on the money. The self-care lasts for three days before you start hyperfixating on painting the seven pieces to your commission. You work on them from about four in the afternoon to two in the morning for two days straight before you decide to down some liquid melatonin and get some actual sleep.

“At this point it’s more just because my detail work would SUCK if I tried to caffeine-fuel my way through the shakes.”

But five hours later, you still can’t fall asleep. And you’ve already technically overdone your dosage on melatonin, so you don’t exactly want to risk anything going wrong medically and having to finance a hospital trip. You turn on some white noise, but the room gets so much colder that you get irritated and the noise doesn’t help at all. So like any other time you can’t get to sleep, you grab your paintbrushes and a random midsize canvas to set on your home easel. You sit there, tapping your brush against your leg for a while before you get an idea.

You pull up the Orion constellation on your phone and start painting a black and blue background. You work some purples in there and even throw some very small splashes of pink in before tracing out the constellation. You look to your left and sure enough, there’s another business card sitting there. So you start from the star Betelgeuse and swirl the colors from the card out in a twisty spiral until you get to the edge of the canvas.

When you’re done, you have a galaxy print with Orion and a very contrasting (almost cartoony in nature) jerky twirly spiral of green, purple, and a black and white striped pattern over the top of it. You’re not going to lie, it looks a bit odd. But it seems to satisfy your ever-running mind for the moment, and you yawn and stretch before curling up in bed and tucking yourself in.

You sleepily say to the emptiness of your bedroom that “If you return my binder, I’ll say your fucking name three times.” You can almost swear you hear a chuckle, but before you have time to register it, you’re whisked away to a dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

Light pierces your eyes through your lids and you scrunch your face. You make a move to toss your blankets over your head, but they’re yanked from your form and you jump into a sitting position. “What the fuck?!”

When your head stops spinning and you can open your eyes without squinting, you shake your head and look around your room. You see your binder neatly laid out on the bed beside you, along with another business card - “ _Thanks for cooperating, babes. Now about that deal…”_ , with the customary triple Betelgeuse on the back.

You laugh, say, “Score!” under your breath, and run off to the bathroom to start the morning off right.

Styling the last of your hair into place and throwing on your painting clothes, you pick up the business card and slide it into your back pocket. You feel like you’ve deserved to waste energy on making a nice breakfast, so you fight through the urge to just grab a Poptart and start making a waffle instead. You throw some fruit on the side and sprinkle syrup and chocolate on. You might have to put some of it in the fridge for later, but hey it’s better than nothing! And it’s not the healthiest it could be, but Jamie would be proud of you, and a waffle makes two good things this morning so the bad thoughts can just shut the hell up.

You sit down and take a bite of your waffle. It’s a bit crispy, but not burnt, so you’re taking that as a win. And then the sink goes off. You tilt your head in confusion at it. ...And it goes absolutely crazy! Water sprays all over the kitchen area and you rush over to try and stop it. You wrap a sponge around the faucet to stop the spraying from hitting you and turn the handles off. That seems to stop the flow, and you let the faucet drip cold water for a few seconds to make sure the water controls still work correctly.

You huff and walk back to the table, not too pleased to be wet, but determined to enjoy your waffle. Only to sit down and have your fork flung to the floor. Followed by your coffee. You shake yourself from your stunned position to grab your plate before it gets tossed to the floor too. “Why in the everliving hell are you flinging around my breakfast? I have to clean all this shit up now!” You glare at the ceiling. A blueberry flies up from your plate and hits you on the cheek. You stand up and gesture wildly with your hands. “Why? Why?!”

A business card appears out of nowhere on your waffle. “ _You made a deal. And I held up my end. Say the fucking words._ ”

You growl. “Listen here, Beetlebitch. I’m not stupid enough to-”

And your plate goes flying. It crashes against the wall and your food drops to the floor. Everything around the table is a mess, there’s water covering the kitchen, and you’re leaking angry tears. “Fucking FINE. Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse!”

You stand shaking as in a flash of green light and smoke, a man in a striped suit spins and holds out his arms with a shit-eating grin and a twinge of annoyance on his face. “‘Bout time, babes. Jesus Christ, you’d think you hated me before you met me!” Your mouth twitches in its raged frown and your tears multiply as you run off to your room and slam the door.

The man stands in the middle of the table, tilting his head. “Gee, was it something I said?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So he's finally here! The ghost with the most is on the move, and boy do you hate it - maybe he'll help you clean up the breakfast mess? ... Probably not.


	3. Beetlebug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Beetlejuice is a caring bitch and Reader is a smartass.

You’ve locked yourself in the bathroom. _How the fuck did I get myself into this mess?_ You’re trying to calm your breathing, but your hiccupping teary self won’t stop shaking with rage. _He fucking flung my breakfast everywhere. The ONE morning I have the capacity to make myself something nice! And now I’m all upset and I won’t be in the headspace to paint and I’ve wasted enough time on ‘mental health days’ anyway and OH MY GOD WHO DOES THAT BASTARD THINK HE IS. FUCKING, STAR MY ASS. JERKWAD, FUCKING BEETLEBITCH - GODDAMMIT, RUINING MY MORNING-_

You run into a one-track spiral of thought and wrap your arms around your knees, facing your head down and rocking back and forth; you’re trying not to let any of your anger spill into actual screams, but you need to react, so your body shakes violently as you clench your muscles all at once. When you can’t anymore, you sit completely still. Everything seems really far off, and you feel yourself slipping into apathy, the last of your tears running silently down your face as you dissociate pretty hardcore.

You sigh, wipe your eyes, and splash some cold water on your face. When you look up, the man you assume to be Betelgeuse is looking at you in the mirror, eyes rolled to the back of his head and mouth splitting his face in two like a puppet, filled with two many rows of rotating shark teeth.

You stare at him for a second or two then pat your face dry and unlock the bathroom door, making your way to the kitchen to clean up all the shattered ceramic and sticky syrup. _There are gonna be coffee stains on the walls, most likely._ _… Oh well._

You shake your head the slightest bit and start sweeping ceramic bits into your hand to toss in the trash. You hear a gruff voice behind you.

“Oh no no no - you’re gonna cut yourself on that shit, babes. You’re supposed to be screaming, not sweeping.” You continue your motions. “You- No- Just- Well hold on for- Goddammit!” He waves a hand and the mess is gone, replaced by your breakfast on the table before it got tossed around. “Jeezus!” He gives you an exasperated once-over.

“Listen here, doll. You’re supposed to have screamed in  fear  when I got here. Not anger. The running off part was fine, but what the hell is this? Am I really that out of touch?”

You stare at him and blink a few times, then move to your seat and start eating your waffle again. You sigh when your waffle turns to maggoty meat and your coffee to blood, and you toss the whole breakfast, leaving your dishes in the sink for later. Betelgeuse’s eyes follow you the whole time, as if he’s slowly considering what in the hell kind of creature you could possibly be. When you return to the table, he’s sitting criss-cross on it, dirty shoes and all. You lift an eyebrow just a bit to give him an unimpressed stare and continue to stare at him as you climb up on the table to mirror him.

“What the hell is up with you?”

You stare.

“What, are you deaf?”

Silence.

“Sheesh, come on babes. I’ve only been around here for weeks - it’s not like you never make noise.”

 _Yeah, well. Nonverbal is safe and comfortable and low-energy at the moment_ , you think in the back of your mind.

“Are you responsive at all right now?” He goes to touch your head and you catch him by the wrist. “Ah, so you are!” He starts to grin when you reach your other arm out to touch his head. He stops you in much the same manner you stopped him. “Sorry, toots. Only fair.”

You blink and lower your hand, patting his hair a few times before letting him go, wrestling your wrist back, and hopping off the table. You grab the book you stopped reading, like, four months ago, and open it to the bookmarked page. You’re not really reading it, but it’s fine. It was a boring book before and you probably won’t ever actually finish it.

Betelgeuse floats over to you and tilts his head distrustfully, his eyes narrowing. “So, what are you?”

You look up from your book at him for a moment, then go back to scanning the page. You figure this reaction would piss your new housemate off. But he just stares on in confusion for a bit before seeming to disappear.

You rest your book and hands on your stomach and close your eyes. You picture some swirling colors and try to hold that image for as long as you can.

* * * * *

When you wake up, the man from before’s face is hovering over yours, upside down. You jump and pull a face and he laughs at you, a crude, gravelly sound of unfiltered, twisted joy.

“Afternoon, babes.” He smirks.

You sit up and turn around, stretching. Then splutter a bit because for the second time this month, you’ve napped in your binder. You gasp. “Jesus!” You clutch your chest and reach under your shirt to pull your binder away long enough to take a deep breath.

“Hehah, not even close!” You hear a cackle to the side as you sprint upstairs toward your room. “Hey, wait up!” You feel a slight puff of air when you reach your door, and Beetlebitch is waiting for you on the other side when you open it.

“Move.”

He steps to the side and eyes you deviously. “What, got a- Whoa, babes!”

You’re sure he’s about to make an underhanded sex joke as you pull your shirt over your head, but you’re having none of that shit. “Get out.”

“Aw, no, there’s no need to get all shy for me-”

You turn around and give him a glare that could wither a dragon’s ego. “I said get out!”

“Fine.  Fine!  Jesus christ, what made you such a stiff breather?” He huffs and closes the door behind him on his way out.

You wait three seconds to make sure he’s actually gone, then peel your second skin off and almost choke on the air you inhale. You grab your dysphoria sweatshirt off the back of your chair and spray cologne on it before squirming into it as fast as you can. You sit down, knees pulled up to your chest under the sweatshirt and face hidden under the hood as you squeeze your eyes tight and focus on the scent of your cologne.

When you’re steady enough to feel like walking, you head out to the kitchen to grab a small snack, discover you’re not as hungry as you probably should be, and put the snack ingredients away, opting instead for an energy drink and a piece of bread or two to down it with. You feel eyes burning into you as you avoid the stare of the man in the stripes, and walk over to your couch.

As soon as you sit down, he joins you.

“So…” you hear to your left.

You look over and meet his eyes for a second before hunching down over your plate, adjusting your sweatshirt, and turning the TV on. You pull your legs up under you and start on your energy drink. _Who knows if it’s safe to go to my paintings with this creep following me. I really don’t want the three I have mostly painted to be ruined because this guy can’t keep his hands to himself or something._

“Hmm.” There’s a pause. “Ya know, babes. I’m not really sure how to interact with you. Scaring you is no fun, and there’s no one else here. You don’t talk half the time I say something and- Well, you’re just angry the times you do. I’m not gonna beg you for your fears, but COME ON. There’s gotta be something that’ll make ya lighten up. I ain’t dealin’ with this mopey dopey shit.”

You take a chug of your energy drink, set your plate and can down on the end table, and turn around to face the demon you summoned. “First of all, this ‘mopey dopey shit’ is a mix of anxiety, depression, and dysphoria that all your bullshit does not help. Secondly, I’d probably feel better if I had been able to eat the breakfast that you so politely ruined for me. And lastly, I am WAY too tired to be scared of anything you think might do it for me.”

“Pffshtt! Do it for you? What, does fear turn you on?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and you roll your eyes.

“I am in no way, shape, or form interested in any type of sexual advances from you, Beetlebug.” You shake your head.

He narrows his eyes. “Well, that’s fine, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“No. Fear does not turn me on.”

“Aww. No fun.”

“Pssh. Whatever, Betelgeuse.”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out!”

You raise an eyebrow. “Betelgeuse.”

The dead man frowns, and you notice streaks of red start trailing through his hair. You tilt your head and go to mention it to him; “Betel-”

“ Jesus christ, kid!  ” He covers your mouth with his hand, causing you to push it away and gag. “  I told you to knock it off! ” More red streaks wind through the green, and you mumble a half-assed, irritated apology.

“I was just gonna ask what’s up with your hair. Fuck, man.” Most of the red fades back to green, and a few pieces look as though they might be yellow. “And if you’re gonna stay, go hop a fucking shower. You reek of mold and flies.”

“Harsh, babes.”

“Okay, but you didn’t answer my question,” you demand.

“It, uh.. It just does that sometimes. Changes colors. It’s weird like that, I don’t know!”

“Hmm,” you respond. “Sure. One thing though. You-” you poke him. “-are not a star. From now on, I will only be spelling your name as ‘beetle’ and ‘juice’. No star-like honor for you, you colorful bastard.”

His breath smells rotten and dusty when he grins back at you, so you grab a towel and an extra loofah and toothbrush - all three of which you promptly chuck at Beetlejuice. He gives you a ‘What?’ look, and you start up:

“Beetlejuice… Beeeeeeeetlejuice!....”

Just as you start to form his name for the third time, you feel your mouth become a cold, closed zipper. “YOU-” Beetlejuice starts- “are NO FUN.” And he disappears with the toiletries you threw at him, hair a blazing red.

The shower turns on and somehow you can hear the water reacting to the anger in the room. _Huh_ , you muse. _So it’s like a mood ring. You know, that could conjure up some interesting painting subjects. AFTER my commission of course, but. Still… Maybe he’s useful for something after all._

* * * * *

When your cranky housemate emerges from the bathroom, steam pours from the doorway and you feel blasts of hot air that you didn’t know could come from your shower. But the beetle bitch’s hair is free of dirt, he doesn’t smell bad from a distance anymore, and his teeth, though still a browny yellow color, are not home to moss, mold, and spiders. So you consider it a colossal win.

“So,” you say as you lean on the railing. “What happens if I say your name three times in a row again?” The metal of your zipper lips jangles and clangs when you talk, and you feel your mouth being magically closed shut once more. You stubbornly frown and cross your arms.

“It’s like banishing me again. And you can bet your sweet little ass I’m not letting that happen.”

He and your zipper mouth disappear and you have no idea what to do with yourself. So you shout out a warning not to mess with anything or bother you while you work and hope that he’ll listen to you sometimes when it really counts. You grab your sketches, canvases, and bookbag on the way out and head up to your office to paint.

 _At this point, my office will become my studio. Forget trying to paint in the same house as Mr. Beetlebug. Little fuckface._ You shake your head and unlock your offi-  studio  door, turning the lights on and preparing to finally start setting the characters into the backgrounds you’ve laid down.

* * * * *

It’s eight o’clock (though you’re not sure whether it’s morning or night) when you finally pull back from your hyper focused painting session. You have the basic forms blocked out in all seven of the paintings, and have shaded some skin and clothing details on four of them (leaving you to do the same with Envy, Lust, and Pride). There are paintbrushes scattered all over the floor on various paint-stained towels, several cups stand with varying amounts and cleanliness of water in them, and paint is on absolutely everything. It’s on your hands, staining the floor, sticking in your hair, and you feel as though it might as well have covered your soul. You feel as close to complete as you think is possible when you’re painting.

“Hey!” you hear behind you. “It’s been almost a whole day. Do you even have any food with you? Or like, blankets to rest on? As far as I know, humans still need that shit to survive.”

You turn around and wipe your forehead, smearing some scarlet across it. “Nope. This is strictly a studio/office space. I usually do a good bit of painting at home, but I didn’t know if I could trust you to not royally fuck something up when I wasn’t looking.”

“Gee, thanks,” is the dripping-with-sarcasm response you get.

You roll your eyes. “Well maybe if you weren’t such a dick up to and including the first time we met, I wouldn’t be so suspicious of you.”

“Hey, I gave your stupid tight half-tank back, didn’t I?” You avoid answering that one, because you not holding up your end of the deal then would really sour the point you definitely had going. “Speaking of that - why do you even keep it? It looks way too small to actually be your size.” He tilts his head. “What do you need it for if you can’t wear it?”

You don’t know whether to laugh or be offended that he might think your attachment to it is stupid. You cover up a chuckle that almost slips out, and narrow your eyes the tiniest bit. “It’s not too small.”

He squints, confused. “Yes it is.”

“No-” you start to explain.

“Babes, if you wore that thing it would totally and completely squish your che- OH……. But you wouldn’t be able to breathe..?”

You pull the neck of your shirt over enough to show him the binder strap and sigh. “Only the front has the squishing capabilities. The back is stretchy so you’re able to breathe just fine. As long as you wear the right size. And not sleep in it. Or swim in it. Or wear it for more than 8 hours regularly.”

“Shit. Uh.” Beetlejuice looks as though he’s trying to say sorry without actually saying sorry. He lets the awkward silence ring out a bit before starting the conversation back up again. “So what pronouns are on the table?”

You blink back in surprise. “What?”

“What?”

“I didn’t think you’d… particularly care about that.”

“Hey, listen babes. I’m a nuisance and an asshole, but I’m not a bigot.” When you’re silently trying to take that in, he once again asks his question. 

“They/them,” you answer. “I’m nonbinary. My pronouns are they/them. And my name is (y/n), since you so kindly never asked.”

“Well, I’m still gonna call ya babes,” he says with a snake-like grin. “But okay then.”

“Two questions,” you say. You hold up a finger. “What are your pronouns?” You raise a second. “You know what nonbinary means without me having to explain it to you?”

Beetlejuice laughs. “Well, I’m super simple babes. He/him like you probably guessed. There are a TON of things I think I’d let you call me,” he says with a wink. “And ignoring the fact that nonbinary is a really easy word to break down, you aren’t a new thing. Hell, my hometown had at least two people I talked to that didn’t fit the binary, and at least five more nonbinary and intersex people that I’d seen around the edges of town. You guys aren’t new - your recent history just likes to erase ya.” He shrugs.

And boy, if that isn’t the most affirming thing you’ve heard in YEARS.

“Well.” You clear your throat. “Thank you.” And you give him a very quick, polite smile.

You notice some yellow twisting its way through the demon’s hair near the roots, and he coughs. “Anyway.” He floats closer to your paintings and seems to genuinely admire them. He gives a low whistle. “These are  nice , (y/n). Seven deadly sins?”

You nod as you both drift your gazes over the blazing scarlets of Wrath, glittering golds of Greed, listless blues and greys of Sloth, glistening buttery oranges of Gluttony, and the basic background colors for Lust, Envy, and Pride - deep and bright wine reds, leafy emerald greens, and royal purples with white, respectively. Your skill and experience show themselves already, and you can’t wait for all of them to be beautifully detailed so you can add the connecting elements throughout.

“Damn. Yeah, I won’t touch ‘em. Scout’s honor.” He smirks.

“Good,” you answer. “I’m getting a pretty penny for them and my top surgery is counting on those funds.”

You keep talking and arguing, mostly about how he thinks you should have brought food with you, you idiot, and how you think he should butt out of your personal business. _I was much too busy painting to bother with inconsequential constructs like time and appetite._

“Listen, if you die, I start back at square one, yeah? And I don’t want that. So as much as I am sooooo not going to be your babysitter, you’re not allowed to starve yourself of food or sleep for extended periods of time.”

“Oh yeah? And what counts as extended periods of time?”

He taps his chin. “24 hours for food and 48 for sleep.”

“Jesus fuck. You’re serious about this aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

* * * * *

You eventually bike home and make yourself something to eat. Once you’ve FaceTimed Jamie (and yes, that call included a lot of explanations and introductions) and downed your dose of melatonin, you change into your warm fleece pajamas. You have about thirty minutes until the melatonin kicks in, so you throw a load in the wash and stay up scrolling through Pinterest long enough to switch it to the dryer (albeit a bit prematurely). Then you start climbing the stairs to go crash.

Once you’re in bed, everything seems close and warm enough that you might be able to go to sleep within a few minutes instead of tossing and turning and impatiently waiting. But right as you’re about to nod off…

“ _Dad says act our age. You heard the man, IT’S TIME TO RAGEEE!!!”_

You cover your head with the blankets, trying to smother yourself in quilted silence. When it becomes apparent you can’t, you slide the blankets down and yell as loud as you can. “HEY BASTARDJUICE!!!!! TURN DOWN THE FUCKING VOLUME DOWN!!!”

The response you get is a hearty, “Aw, but I needed to rummage through your music taste!!! Get to know you better now that we’re roomies!!!”

You’re sure if you tried, you could picture his smug, menacingly teasing grin. But you’re grumpy now, so you groan and half-yell, “Beetlejuice!” There’s no change in volume. “BEETLEJUUUUICE!!!!” You drag the word out.

All of a sudden, the music stops and the striped bastard appears out of nowhere, slapping a hand over your mouth and baring his sharper than normal teeth. He looks at you with enraged, beady eyes and starts ripping you a new one about how he told you not to say his name like that and how there are soooo many ways he could get you to shut up permanently if you can’t keep it out of your dirty breather mouth.

But you’re too busy noticing his hair - a vibrant, almost glowing red, flaming over top of his furrowed eyebrows.

“Huh,” you mumble from behind Beetlejuice’s hand. “So it IS a mood ring.” He stops and looks at you bewildered, probably trying to figure out what you said as you reach a hand out and run your fingers through his lava locks.

He freezes and narrows his eyes before pushing your hand away. “No! You don’t get to threaten me then pet me like a dog!”

“I wasn’t. Either of those,” you reply with a yawn. “These are pets,” you explain as you smooth his hair down a few times and scritch his head. “And I wasn’t threatening you, numbskull.”

“Bullshit!”

“I was trying to get your attention. People usually yell names when they do that. And look - it worked! Go sleep now. Or whatever you demons do.”

He looks at you in disbelief. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or sarcastic.” You don’t grace that with an answer. Honestly, it was a bit of both. “Ya know what, smartass? I might just be able to handle being around you. But no more of this shit. If you wanna get my attention, moan or throw something. Goddamn.” And he disappears downstairs again, leaving you to chuckle and return once more to slumberland as your housemate quietly restarts ' _Big Fun_ '.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... a bit of a dynamic change between Reader and BJ. Not quite friendship, but not quite enemy hatred anymore... And Reader is definitely matching all of BJ's smartass energy. I'm excited for where this will take us!


	4. Parties and Payment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader finally finishes their masterpieces!!! And BJ is super sweet!

The next week is full of petty arguments and hours of painting. Also, half-baked spaghetti meals and lots of Poptarts and energy drinks. And probably too many distractions in the form of you wanting to act scenes out while singing the musical songs your housemate throws on at random times while you’re working.

Friday night comes and you’re done with the big workload that came with the last three paintings. Now all you need to do is paint the finishing details of each individual painting with the thinnest brushes you have to make some of the lines and highlights stand out, and of course, fully connect them all as per the client’s request. Which in this case, will require you getting out your metallic gold paint so the paintings will shine together in the light.

You can’t seem to get to sleep, so by the time it hits eleven, you sigh, throw on an oversized t-shirt, and walk out to your living room. Your housemate sees you rubbing your eyes and laughs. “Hey! Glad you’re up. I found these old things in the attic and I want you to teach me how they work.”

You look over and see that he’s got a stack of your old board games out. Monopoly, Operation, Chutes and Ladders, the likes. You stretch and tell him that while you wouldn’t mind playing them another time, you’d much rather a card game at the kitchen table. When your arms come down, the neck of your t-shirt slides to the side and slips off your shoulder. Your housemate chuckles.

“Well, well. Look at you, being all adorable.”

“What?”

“What?”

You shake your head and catch him staring at your shoulder. “Ah. So you’re the reason we had to cover our shoulders at school.”

“What?”

“What?” you mimic back.

He stares at you indignantly, eyes narrowing. “So. … What card game are we playing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tch. Babes. Wake up.” He snaps his fingers in your face.

You reflexively frown, annoyed, and make a move to bite them.

“Hey!” he shouts.

“Bitch,” you reply.

“Yeah, yeah, fuckface.”

“Nope,” you say. “You stole that from me. You can’t use it against me.”

Beetlejuice sits down at the table. “That is SO not how that works.”

“It so is,” you say, and start dealing cards out for a game of James Bond. “Okay, Beetlebitch. Here’s how you play…”

* * * * *

Saturday, you spend almost all your time painting. You hang tiny little diamonds on thin chandelier strings with your brush and gold paint. You highlight glints of sin in your paintings’ eyes and outline their forms with thin liquid sunlight. Little gems and bits of shadow get diluted metallics and by the end of it, they’re sure as hell a completed set. You feel tears prick your eyes as your smile nearly splits your face in half.

You sign your pieces in the bottom right-hand corner with black ink and wait for them to dry, feeling like a medieval scribe with your feathered calligraphy pen in hand.

You dial the number scribbled at the top of your first info page from your Notes folder and wait for your client to pick up. After the second ring, her cheery voice sounds in your ears. “Yes, hello. This is Dr. Maria Henson!”

“Hi Dr. Henson! This is (Y/n). I have just finished your set of seven paintings! I’m so excited for you to see them! Would you still like to come pick them up or have there been any changes to the delivery/pickup situation since the last time we talked?”

“Oh, yes! Hi! I am so excited to see them!!! And actually, if I gave you my home address, could you drive them up here? I’m only about an hour away from your office, and I’ll be all too happy to cover any gas money you spend.”

“Thank you for the offer, but that isn’t necessary.” You pause, considering how awkward it would be to ask the question, before deciding to get it out of the way. “Should I dress up?”

“Well, normally no. I don’t much care as long as you’re comfortable. But this time is… a bit different. I’m sorry if that sounds curt. I just have a thing going on tomorrow and I want very much to celebrate you when you get here. I wouldn’t want you to feel underdressed.”

“You’re okay,” you say. “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll see you tomorrow then!”

The conversation goes on for a bit before dwindling down to professional goodbyes, and you hang up before squealing.

“Beetlebitch, get dressed up tomorrow! We’re goin’ on a car ride!!!”

He pokes his head out into the doorway. “Wait, you’re taking me with you?”

“Yeah, as long as you can behave.” You smile even bigger, if that’s possible, and your cheeks hurt.

“Babes, I’ll put on my best suit if you keep smiling at me like that.” He smiles back and winks at you before disappearing.

* * * * *

After a mostly restless night, five outfit changes, two nervous breakdowns, many hours of pacing - and a partridge in a pear tree - you finally pack the paintings into the car and are on your way. Your hair is actually styled with products, you accessorized a bit, and you put your best feel-good outfit on. Hell, you even did some gender-euphoric makeup, since you had more than enough time for it!

Beetlejuice, on the other hand, just disappeared and reappeared ten minutes later to bug you throughout your whole getting ready process. He’s sitting beside you now, in a cleaned up version of his stripey suit and polished shoes. His green hair is somewhat tamed, though still fluffy as all get out, and he bounces his leg for a good few minutes at a time.

You hum in thought then turn your head towards him slightly, keeping your eyes on the road. “Hey, Buggy Bastard. Will people be able to see you?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m out for good babes.”

“Alright. Don’t trash the place.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You drive on in silence for a bit longer.

“Oi. What am I supposed to call you when we get there? What are other people gonna call you for that matter?”

“Um…” You glance over at him and he’s staring out the window in thought, lips pursed, chin in hand. “Well, I guess you could call me by my legitimate name.”

“Wait, Beetlejuice isn’t your real name?”

“Well, no shit babes. Didja really think I was named after a star? I mean, come on. Don’t give my parents too much romantic credit. They tried to write some poetry for each other once.” He sticks his tongue out and mimes gagging. “Gleghch!”

You laugh. “Alright, so what is it?” He pauses and you raise your eyebrow. “Oh, it can’t be that bad. Out with it.”

He shifts in his seat. “Nah. It ain’t bad. I just haven’t gone by it in such a long time, I’m gonna have to get used to responding to it again.”

“Fair. That makes sense.”

“It’s Lawrence. And we are not on first name terms, so once this is over, you can go back to the not-so-professional yet oddly-affectionate names you yell at me when I’m being irritating.”

You nod in thought for a few seconds, playing the name out in your head for a bit. “Yeah, I can do that. Lawrence,” you say, testing the word out on your tongue.

You mouth the word a few more times and then look over at Beetlejuice and blush when you see he’s raised his eyebrow at you.

You feint a slap at him, end up actually hitting him lightly, and tell him to put some music on. Which cues you singing for most of the rest of the drive, though with less vigor than usual so you don’t end up with a croaky voice when you arrive at Dr. Henson’s house.

…

...Which is huge!!! By the way!!!!!!

* * * * *

“Hi, Dr. Henson!” You shake hands and she moves over a bit to make room for someone else to share the doorway with her.

“Hello, Mx. (Y/n)! This is my wife, Samantha.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Samantha says in a quiet, whispery voice.

“Likewise!” you smile back. You turn back to Beetlejuice and pull him forward by the arm. “This is my friend Lawrence.” You give a nervous chuckle. “I hope it’s alright that he came with. He’s my housemate and helped me load up some of the paintings, so I brought him along.”

“Oh, you’re fine, love. Would you bring the paintings in?”

“Yeah! They’re wrapped up, like you suggested.”

* * * * *

The paintings are put up in order with color-coded sheets hanging over top of them and all the guests at Dr. and Mrs. Henson’s painting-reveal party stop grabbing cheese cubes, crackers, and olives long enough to gather round in a large semi-circle. Dr. Henson steps up and taps her glass with her fork, which is something you thought Hollywood made up.

“Everyone! I’d just like to introduce you to our wonderful artist of the evening! The one who brought to life my dream to have the seven deadly sins displayed in my house in a way that wasn’t grotesque, but beautiful. And I can say with complete confidence that they absolutely accomplished that, having seen some of their other artworks. So without further ado, I invite Mx. (Y/n) to unveil for the first time their complete set of paintings!”

Everyone claps as you blush and step out to stand beside the first painting. There are whoops and gasps and cheers for each painting you uncover, all the way down the line. You smile and laugh with everyone for a bit, but start to feel crowded as they all move in to get a closer look at the paintings. _I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Oh my god, please. Please don’t crowd me._ You look around, a bit panicked, for Beetlejuice.

“Lawrence?” you ask. You try to take a deep breath and feel tears prick your eyes as your shoulder is bumped into and a couple of people come up to you wanting to know how long it took you to finish per painting. “Lawrence?!” you half shout.

You see a mess of green hair rushing toward you. “Yeah, babes. Shh, I’m right here. Come on, let’s go take a walk. Artist’s going on a walk! Save all your questions for later!! Move outta the way!!!” And he shoves through the remaining people to let you have some space. “Hey, ya want anything? I can go get you something to eat if you need it.”

You shake your head and go to rub your eyes before remembering that you have makeup on and doing that will result in you becoming a raccoon. So you heave a big sigh instead and look up at Beetlejuice.

He looks at you very seriously. “I’m getting you some water.”

“No.” You furrow your eyebrows and shake your head.

He kneels down next to where you’re sitting. “Yes, I am. And you’re gonna shut up about it, and drink it. And then we’re going to get your payment, answer some questions only if you feel like it, take a few pictures, and go the fuck home so you can get the sleep I know you didn’t get last night.”

He walks away before you can tell him off and you finish steadying your breathing right as Dr. Henson walks up to you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You stand up. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a little crowded over there.” You chuckle, and she shakes her head.

“I know. Nice though they are, they’re like vultures when excited.”

Beetlejuice comes back with a glass half full of water.

“Thanks Lawrence.”

“Yeah, yeah, babes. You can pay me back later.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Speaking of payment-” he looks at Dr. Henson. “-(Y/n) might want to get going in an hour or two to get home and rested. So if we could collect that before making our way back to the swarm of…” He waves his hand toward the crowd of people lazing about by the paintings, and makes a ‘ya know’ motion.

“Absolutely. Let me go get the check.”

A few minutes later, she and her wife come back with said check in an unclosed envelope, and you pull it out just to stifle a gasp and almost choke on the lack of air you suddenly have. _That’s two thousand more than what we agreed upon!!!_

Dr. Henson sees you slightly shaking and smiles. "I know it’s more than what we settled at the beginning of this. But I honestly expected it to take a full year, and you got all of them done so beautifully and so detailed in a timeframe much shorter than that, so I know you had to have spent so much time and effort on them constantly.”

Beetlejuice smiles. “They did, believe me. At all hours of the day, all days of the week. Getting them to quit was an absolute pain sometimes!” You all laugh and Beetlejuice offers to put the envelope in his inside jacket pocket. You decline the offer and fold the envelope to put it in the back pocket of your pants.

And Beetlejuice was right. You make some polite conversation, answer some questions about your paintings, take a few pictures, share your business information, compliment the house, and thank your hosts. And then you leave. You drive, get gas, cash your check into the bank, and set an alarm when you get home for the next day at ten to call your doctor about finalizing steps for a top surgery appointment. Beetlejuice brings you some melatonin and snaps himself back to the messy-haired, untamed look he usually has. You quietly laugh and take your melatonin before hopping a shower and changing into a gigantic t-shirt for bed. You fill the sink and leave your binder to strip overnight, yawning as you walk out of the bathroom and see Beetlejuice sitting on your bed.

You tilt your head at him. “Lawrence?”

He looks up at you. “I have a question for you.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“Am I your friend? Are we friends?”

“Well damn, Beetlebug. I guess!” You dramatically flump down next to him and shove him with your shoulder.

He turns to you with surprise in his eyes. “Really?”

Your mouth lifts up in a smirk. “Yeah. What can I say? You’ve grown on me.”

“Well, um. Good.” He stands up and dusts his shoulders off. As he takes a step toward the door, you stand up and grab his shoulder to turn him around.

“Thanks for saving me at the party earlier.”

“Pfft. That was nothing. Honestly, it was harder to do that than it would’ve been to misbehave entirely and scare the living shit out of everyone there.” He laughs and you bite your lip nervously before stepping closer quickly and hugging him.

“No, seriously. Thank you.”

He awkwardly pats your back. Quietly, he replies, “Yeah. No problem, (Y/n).” He clears his throat. “Now get some sleep. And I mean it. I will come up here and drown you with white noise machines if you fight it.”

You laugh and give him one final squeeze. “Alright, alright. Goodnight Beetlejuice.”

“G’night, babes.”


	5. The Big Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ya know, BJ cares about you more than you think sometimes.

Since the friend conversation, the two of you had made some pretty good headway on actually being polite to each other. Sure, you still call him Beetlebitch, and he still hides your shit and blasts your music. But every night - okay, well  most nights - end with a smile and ‘Goodnight’.

_ Mornings however, are free game to just completely be an asshole _ , you think, seething.

“Babes, please. Don’t - no. Jesus, will ya - fuckin’ - nah-ah. Drop it. Drop it!” Beetlejuice eyes you wearily and watches with suspicion as you slowly lower your weapon of choice to the ground. “Good. Now why the fuck are you chasing me around the house with a goddamn banana?”

“Well, gee, Mossman. I don’t know. Maybe don’t turn my phone into one? I was on call with Jamie, fuckface,” you spit at him rather venomously. … You pause. “Sorry. That was a bit harsh. But I haven’t been able to call her once until this morning since that consultation appointment, because of how busy her schedule is.” You pout.

He tilts his head like a confused puppy. “I thought you called her last night?”

You shake your head. “No. I left her a voicemail telling her to get some goddamn sleep and come over soon or I’ll go and kidnap her away from college. I rattled on for a good bit, but she wasn’t actually on the phone.”

His expression drops as the realization hits him and he lowers his whole posture in shame. “Oops. My bad, babes. Heh.” As he snaps the banana back into your phone, you frown and try to make note of his hair before he disappears. When he does, you hear Jamie’s voice coming from the speaker.

“What was that?”

“My housemate.”

“Ah. Excuse the break-off from our previous discussion here, but how are you guys holding up? Like, is it livable over there?”

“Yeah.” You look around and show Jamie your still relatively clean house. You turn the phone back around and your best friend sees the wrinkles between your eyebrows.

“He disappeared again, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” You sigh.

“What colors was he this time?”

Your face scrunches in thought. “It was kind of muddy, but as far as I could tell, it was yellow with streaks of blue and a kind of grayish, desaturated color.”

“So do you have those figured out yet?”

“I think I’ve got most of the colors down.” You walk over to your desk and pull out your notebook to look at the speculations you’ve made on Beetlejuice’s hair/mood color ring. “I’m pretty sure yellow is embarrassed. Blue is most likely sad. The gray color doesn’t fit in the ring here, so I have it off to the side, but I’m thinking it might be shame or something of that category.” You pull another sigh. “I don’t know, Jamie. I feel kinda bad speculating behind his back. I mean, body posture and facial expressions are a readable thing too. And he always changes the subject when I ask about his hair.”

“Changes the subject… with yellow streaks?”

“Yellow roots, actually. Like he’s trying to not let fade up into his actual hair.”

“Huh.” You watch your best friend, waiting for answers because you kinda hate making decisions by yourself. “Well, I mean. You could always ask him again. But I’m guessing you don’t want to do that.”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t want to make him upset. In any kind of way. But especially all these blue, purple, and gray colors. They’re really pretty on canvases, but not on a sad Beetlebug.” You flop down on your bed. “I wish I knew why he was embarrassed though. Because, honestly, color changing hair is the absolute shit! I would fucking kill for that.”

“You like it that much?”

“It’s awesome.”

Jamie nods. “I think you would rock it, honestly. The artist you are, and all that.”

You prop your phone up on a pillow and roll over on your stomach. “You should see the pink yellow combos, though. Paired with a blush, they are absolutely adorable.” You giggle, and your friend raises her eyebrows.

“Oh really?”

You roll your eyes. “Not like that. We just started being decent enough friends to each other, Jesus. But yes, it’s a totally different picture than his usual Sir Stripeyness.”

Jamie laughs at you. “I am  loving all the nicknames. But like, holy shit dude. Don’t you realize you’re literally living a fanfiction right now?”

“Pfft. Yeah, sure. An adventure fanfiction. Maybe an author insert or some weird shit like that, for this demon to be coming to life in my living room night and day. But most certainly not the kind you’re suggesting with those eyebrow waggles of yours.”

Her impressive eyebrow wiggling continues for a few minutes. “Fine. I’ll quit pestering you about it. All I’m saying is that if one day you accidentally fall on top of each other or go somewhere you have to share a bed-”

“-He doesn’t usually sleep,” you interject.

“-you have to tell me all about it. Because I’m going to write it up and make you read it. And then you’ll have no choice but to admit to me that you are absolutely living a slowburn.”

You roll your eyes, call your best friend a few choice names (mostly inside jokes you don’t even remember the origin of enough to explain to anyone else), and go to hang up.

Inbetween laughs, she stops you long enough for a few second goodbyes. “But seriously, (Y/n). Congrats on the appointment. I’m so happy for you!!! And you have to tell me when the teet yeet is happening once you have a date secured, so I can take off work to be there with you, yeah?”

You smile and tell her that yes, you’ll make sure to do that, and who else would you invite for moral support, and you hang up the FaceTime.

You sit up and blow an only slightly exasperated breath of air, paired with an eye roll and a smile, right before you feel a sudden drop of folded arms on your shoulders and a face rested on them to your left.

“So I’m adorable, am I?”

“That is not what I said.”

“Awwww, but it is!! I heard it. You were talking about my hair and said that my pinks and yellows paired with a blush are ‘absolutely adorable’.” He says the last part in your voice and you turn around to look at him.

“That is some seriously creepy shit. Please do not ever do that again.”

“Wait, I finally found something to scare you with?”

“No,” you retort. “But that voice? With that face?” You look him up and down in pretend criticism. “Honey, no.”

He blows a raspberry in your face. “Fine. I didn’t wanna use it anyway.”

He peeks around you at your open notebook. “So, I see you’ve been journaling my emotions…”

You cringe. “Yeah.. Should I not?”

“Ehhhhhhhh.” He tilts his head back and forth as he draws the word out. “Nah, babes. You’re fine. I just don’t like bein’ such an.. open…. book…….. That was not intended. It’s just an expression.”

You snort. “I know what an expression is Beej.”

“Hmm. A bit softer than your usual. But it has a nice ring to it.” He picks up your notebook and studies it, and it takes you a minute to realize he was talking about your use of “Beej”. “Where’d it come from?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I figured that Beetlejuice can be shortened to BJ can be shortened to Beej.”

“So you were planning, at some point, on also calling me BJ?”

The fact that he doesn’t look up at you makes you a little nervous as you answer, “Yeah.”

Two seconds go by, and right before you can open your mouth to say you can just chuck the names both in the trash, he says, “I like it. Them. The names.” He looks up and gives you a cute, half smile. “I like them.”

You smile back and scoot closer to where he’s sat on the bed. “Good, cause they’re stuck in the inventory now, Beetlebitch.”

“Not half bad, babes. I’d grade it a… 94%.”

“Really?” You frown and lean over to look at what you’d written. “What’d I miss?”

He points at orange. “This one’s more like annoyance. Annnnnd, this one-” he moves his finger to the not-quite-baby-shit yellow green “- is disgust.” He clicks his tongue thoughtfully and then swipes his finger kinda all over the page as he blurts out the rest. “The teal streaks are pride, pink’s not quite right, and you’re missing one here.” His finger comes to rest on a shade in the magenta range.

“So, I missed half of them… But still got a 94?”

“Eh,” he shrugs. “A for effort.”

You chuckle. “Okay, so what’s this one?” You point at the one you missed.

“That one. Is one I’ll never tell you outright. And uh, probably one you’ll never see.”

“Why? Cause you hide it?”

BJ clears his throat and snaps your notebook closed, creating a dust cloud that shouldn’t have existed and a coughing fit for the breather in the room. “Because that is a completely different lesson for a completely different classroom and a completely different, uhm. Scenario.” And he snaps his blushing self out of existence.

You raise an eyebrow and shake your head. “Just yellow, that time.”

* * * * *

You grab hold of the doorway and swing yourself around and into the room. “Hey, Jamie’s coming over next week on Thursday. She’ll be staying for a week or so and wants to know if you have a sweets preference because for the life of me I can’t get her to just not spend money on sweets for us every time she visits.”

Beetlejuice sits on the couch, elbows on knees and hands poised under his chin in a way that reminds you of Sherlock. You’re about to ask him again in case he hadn’t heard you when he suddenly takes a very big breath and sighs. He looks sideways at you without turning his head and you feel like a teenager getting caught by a parent for something you shouldn’t have done.

“You didn’t eat.”

“What?” you ask.

“It’s three.”

You squint in confusion. “Yeahhh….?”

He stares at you expectantly, and you try to think of anything that might be going on today. But there’s nothing you can remember being planned.

“Babes. Go eat something.”

“Eh,” you say. “I’m not too hungry right now. But if you want me to cook a quick spaghet meal, I can do that.”

Your housemate stands up and walks toward you, roots slowly fading to orange. “(Y/n). You haven’t eaten today. You haven’t eaten in a while. And no, the two crackers you had with your Caprisun four days ago don’t count. It’s been over 24 hours. And you haven’t slept in almost 10 days, which goes way past what our deal said on both parts.”

You bite your lip. “Okay, yeah. But I’m really not hungry. And I can’t get to sleep, even with my melatonin. So I’ve just been-”

“Staying up drawing or on your phone, yeah I know. That won’t help you get to sleep though.” He’s glaring at you and crosses his arms.

“Wait, how do you know that?”

He rolls his eyes. “You were looking tired and I got worried so I checked in on you and found you being an absolute idiot. So you’re gonna go eat something and take a nap.”

You grimace in irritation. “Did you not just hear me? I’m not hungry, Beetlebitch.”

Beetlejuice’s hair flares up with more reds and oranges and he stomps off toward the kitchen. You hear the fridge open, the blender growling, and cabinet doors being slammed open and shut. You shake your head and sit down on the couch.

Two minutes later, a still very-orange-haired BJ floats over with a big cup and straw. He goes to shove it in your hands then pulls back and holds out a third hand. “Come on. Hand it over.”

“What?”

He glares at you hard. “ You know what . You haven’t washed that thing in weeks. Give it here. I’m throwing it in your washing machine.”

You clutch your arms to yourself as if to cover your chest and go, “No! It doesn’t go in the washing machine, dumbass! It gets stripped in the sink or tub.”

“Okay,” the bastard in front of you replies. “Then either you get it set up or you tell me what it needs. You’re starting to smell as bad as me before you made me shower.”

“Shut up, Beetlebitch.”

“I mean, have you even seen yourself? Your dark circles are starting to look purple babes. Your breath stinks and anyone could tell you haven’t been taking care of yourself. You need rest. And food. And clean goddamn clothes.”

“Fuck off, Beetlejuice!”

“Self care, bitch!” He aggressively pokes you on the forehead and your sweatshirt is switched out for an oversized hoodie. Your binder is gone. Tears slip down your face silently and Beetlejuice sighs and hands you the cup. “Come on. Drink up. It has fruit and oats and shit.”

It takes you almost an hour, but you do finish the smoothie… thing. During that time, BJ put your binder in the sink to strip it. He made you take a shower and brush your teeth, then nudged you toward your bed.

“Alright. Rest. Sleep. Healing. Yadda, yadda, yadda.”

You rub your eyes. “I thought you said you weren’t going to be my babysitter.”

“Well, I didn’t expect a full setback like this, but here we are. So I’m helping. That is what friends do right? Besides. If I just kept letting you starve yourself of food and sleep, Jamie would kick my demon ass.”

You let a breathy laugh out and lay down. “Why do I feel tired now?”

BJ shrugs. “Taking care of humans is hard. Takes energy.” He blinks out of sight and comes back with melatonin gummies. “You’re still taking some of this. You need a full night of sleep, no waking up.”

You grab two gummies and resist the urge to spit them out. You sigh and curl up on your bed. When you look up, stripey man is still there. You raise an eyebrow at him. He brings you a stuffed animal from the top of your closet, which you gladly accept. Then you feel your blankets being pulled up around you, and you try to remember the last time someone tucked you in.  _ This is… kind of nice. _

Beetlejuice stands there for a second, then tousles your hair and tells you to get some sleep and tell him if you have another setback earlier so he can help. You yawn.

“Thanks, Beej.”

* * * * *

Jamie comes over Thursday as expected, bringing donuts with her like the spoiling parent-friend she is. And promptly asks you after taking over your bedroom if you want to go to the mall.

“Ehhh, I don’t know Jay. I’m still kinda recuperating.”

“Recuperating? What’d you do this time?”  
You realize your slip of words and rub your eyes. “Well. I kind of uh… Didn’t sleep and eat for a while,” you mumble quickly under your breath.

“Excuse me? Bitch!” Your best friend whaps you with a pillow. “You were supposed to call me to keep up on that! That’s what our Saturday calls were for!”

“Well, yeah I know,” you say. “But you started getting really busy and I thought I could keep up with it, so I just left it alone so you could study and things. Miss college major. Besides, Beej kicked me back into place.”

Jamie huffs. “Well. Now I know not to ever leave you to your own devices. The question still stands though. We could go out tomorrow or something. Visit Hot Topic. Get some cool shit. Go to a “normal person” store and get cool Hawaiian-print dad shirts. Get some ice cream. Very cool shit,” she repeats. “You know. ‘Cause we’re cool people.”

You snort. “Very.”

“We could even bring the colorful bug along,” she says.

“Did somebody phone me?”

Said colorful bug floats up through the floor. And looks around the room just to burst out in a slightly whiny, “Why does she get to share your room? She doesn’t even live in this house?”

Jamie puts her hands on her hips indignantly. “Do too! Just part-time, though.”

You nod. “She does have a point. Before she moved into college dorms, half of our wardrobes were at each others’ houses.”

Jamie nods along. “As you do.”

Beetlejuice mimics Jamie’s stance. “Yeah? Well I live here full time. And all my stuff is here. So nyehhh!” He blows a raspberry and makes wiggly moose hands at her. Jamie raises an eyebrow at you and holds back a laugh when you glare at her.

“So! Where we going?” your stripey housemate asks.

“The mall, apparently. Tomorrow.”

“Ooh, fun!! Lots of people to scare!”

“No!” you groan. “No scaring people, BJ. That is  not what we’re going to be there for.”

“Awww! But babes, I’m a malevolent spirit by nature! Ya can’t just kill all my ill wishes to the world.” He turns into a kitten to give you big pleading eyes, but you just scoop him up into your arms and start petting him. “No fair,” kitten BJ complains as he purrs. You laugh as his fur shifts between bright greens and pinks.

Walking to the living room, you turn your head over your shoulder at your best friend. “So Jamie. Wanna watch some Sherlock?”

* * * * *

After getting to bed at a surprisingly decent time and getting a surprisingly decent amount of sleep, you get up at a surprisingly decent time in the morning in order to get ready for the mall. You find your favorite “casual feeling yourself” outfit and throw it on before styling the rest of you to match. When you walk out of the bathroom, Jamie rushes in telling you that she’s been asking for it for forever now and was on the verge of running to the shop across the street. You apologize, explaining you had your earbuds in playing music, and allow her to push you out into the hallway.

You stuff your phone and earbuds into your pocket and walk to the kitchen to whip up some breakfast. Egg sandwiches - nothing too fancy, but easily filling and nutritious, so it fits the bill. You make one for your begrudging housemate and he says that it’s not the worst thing he’s ever tasted. Considering you’ve heard him tell you about eating live bugs straight from soil, that’s not quite the compliment he might have meant it to be.  _ But at least he doesn’t think it sucks. _

Once everyone’s ready, you assemble by the door and check for keys, wallets, the like. “BJ,” you say, facing him. “PLEASE behave today. It’s going to be a big, crowded area with lots of people and we don’t need a panicked populus.”

“No promises, babes.” He smirks.

“Beetlebitch!” you threaten.

Jamie turns around and pulls him down by his shoulder to whisper something in his ear.

“Ah, fine.”

You give them both a suspicious side eye and walk out the door. They follow you out, talking about the mall’s layout and stop when you get to the car. Suddenly, Jamie bolts to the passenger door and yells, “Shotgun!!!” before launching herself into the passenger seat.

Beetlejuice shakes his head and sighs. “I guess there’s no other place but the roof.” And he hops up to lay down on the roof of the car.

“You guys will be the death of me.”

* * * * *

The drive there is mostly uneventful. Jamie plugs in her phone to listen to a horror podcast, and you zone out to appreciate the suspense and blood that ensues.

When you actually get to the mall, you step inside to appreciate the warmth of the building, and immediately fall in line behind Jamie since she’s much more confident about pushing through people to get where she needs to go. You start by going to random stores near the front and working your way through the mall’s first floor with mostly little interest. You stop before getting to the glass elevator and grab some Dippin’ Dots , much to the delight of BJ, who is absolutely fascinated by the idea of tiny little ice cream spheres. He giggles like mad and you can’t help but join him.

The elevator is a trip of minor fear and anxiety, and you hold your breath most of the way up, avoiding the edges of the glass box and relying on Jamie and BJ to keep you up when you close your eyes.

The second floor, though, brings smiles and content sighs with it in the form of candles, crystals, cards, and band tees. Fandom merch is littered everywhere in Hot Topic and you’d be lying if you said you don’t just want to stay here until they close. But you don’t want to drive home in the dark, so after wandering around the store a few times to thoroughly inspect the items, you poke Jamie and tell her you’re ready to make the final purchase of the night. She gives you a thumbs up and hands the bags from your previous purchases off to Beetlejuice who immediately questions what is going on.

“Oh, it’s a thing me and Jamie do every time we come to a Hot Topic,” you say. “It’s been a tradition between us for a good ten years.”

“Sweet!” your green haired friend says.

“Yeah, actually Mr. Stripes, you could join in if you want to,” Jamie offers.

“Hell yeah!” He stands closer to you and leans down to whisper behind his hand. “But my money won’t last long. It’ll disappear before the end of the day in the money drawer.”

You give him a scathing look and wave your wallet at him. “You can borrow from my paycheck. I’ve got another commission in the works, so just don’t go overboard, and we’ll be fine.”

“Don’t go overboard. Got it,” he repeats.

“Alrighty everybody,” Jamie says. “On your marks, get set, shop!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what exactly did Jamie tell Beetlejuice to make him cooperate?


	6. Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff? Some angst? I think yes!

You walk into the house and set the bags down on the kitchen table. Fishing out the smaller, separated Hot Topic bags, you look at the names written on the Post-It notes and hand them out. Everyone bought two outfits, one for each of the other people in the group. So you all separate your outfits into three piles for the people actually receiving them, and grab your respective piles.

When you walk out of your room, BJ is standing in the striped pants, skeleton shirt, black frayed battle vest, and chains you got him. He actually looks…  _ Really _ _ nice _ , your internal monologue finishes for you.  _ Definitely different, but uh. I can appreciate that. _

Jamie comes out of the bathroom and you turn and whistle, gaining a whistle from her to you, and a smile out of both of you. She’s also wearing the outfit you picked out for her: an oversized yellow Marshmello tee overtop of a black long sleeved shirt and fishnet gloves, a pleated skirt with the moon phases at the bottom of it, and some matching moon phase tights.

And as for the outfit Beej picked out for you, well… You had assumed he would pick things at random, but he actually didn’t do too bad. He picked you out a Supernatural tee, a choker, and some fun patterned pants with chains, pockets, and zippers to boot. There’s also a belt with small spikes, which you are still feeling out your thoughts for, but not hating.

“Nice job, both of you.” Jamie stares at you, then BJ, then you, then BJ. After a while, she puts her arms on your shoulder and tilts her head toward you. “Damn. That’s all I’m gonna say, because if I keep going, I’ll ask something stupid, like if I can steal the both of you for a hot date.”

You laugh and push her away, then give her a look of mock consideration. “I mean, if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind ordering in and chilling for some cuddles.”

Jamie nods. “Cuddles are always good. I’ve been missing me some cuddles.”

“Hey, wait. She gets to share your room and now she gets cuddles? How is that fair?” Beetlejuice asks, crossing his arms.

You give him a pointed look. “Because we’ve been best friends forever and I’m very comfortable with her. Why? Would you also like cuddles?” You tilt your head. “I didn’t peg you as the cuddling type.”

The demon turns his head and scoffs. His roots turn yellow and you see a few thin orange streaks work their way through his usual green. “Maybe I would appreciate some cuddles.” He looks back at you again as the orange bits fade. “But if you guys don’t want me crashing the cuddle-fest I’ll leave you to it.”

“Pfft! How often is it that you get the chance to cuddle a legitimate demon?” Jamie asks. “I vote we throw together a cuddle pile later tonight. Forget ordering in! We can light some candles, have a show on in the background, put snacks around us like a summoning circle. Whaddya think, (Y/n)?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “Fine by me, I guess. Welcome to the cuddle fest, Beej.” He smiles and his green brightens up.

“Alright, alright. Outfit change again. We all still have another one in our bags,” Jamie reminds the two of you.

...

When you fish the second outfit from your bag, you blush and glare at it a bit. “AW, FUCK YOU JAMIE!!! FUCK YOU AND YOUR STUPID SHIPS!!!” You can hear her dying from the bathroom down the hall, and you sigh and get changed.

Jamie and Beetlejuice are waiting for you when you get to the living room. You take two steps into the room and Beej’s hair goes from a bright green to a fusion of yellow and pink. And then you see a bit of-  _ Wait….. No, that’s the magenta color he said I’d never see. Hmmmmm…………………. Investigation time? _

_ “(Y/n) no,” the angel on your shoulder cautions. _

_ “(Y/N) YES,” the demon on your shoulder challenges. _

_ Later tonight _ , you think.

Jamie is leaning against the wall in black leggings, a black and red dress with lace sleeves, and a crystal necklace. And boy oh boy is she smirking at you hardcore. You narrow your eyes at her and hold up your middle finger, to which she laughs.

Beetlejuice, standing in ripped black jeans and a Panic! At the Disco hoodie, looks from you to her, confused. “Wait, what’s with all the ‘fuck you’s and boats?” His hair slowly starts fading back to green the longer he looks at Jamie, waiting for any sort of explanation. When she shakes her head in laughter, he looks back at you, and immediately the pinks and yellows start creeping back into his roots.

You walk a bit closer to the two of them, feeling a bit embarrassed yourself. You mean, sure you like the outfit. It’s very nice. But uh, it’s basically a carbon copy of BJ’s usual getup, made to fit you. To be honest, you don’t even know where Jamie got it from considering you definitely didn’t notice it when you were walking around the store. But the idea that she got the suit and tie for you with the idea that you could match BJ because she ships you two is a bit embarrassing, especially without being able to know exactly what’s running through Beej’s head.  _ The closest thing I’ve got to his thoughts is his hair. But those are not in any way  _ _ exactly _ _ equivalent. _

When you finally snap out of your own thoughts, you realize your housemate is still staring at you, and you clear your throat.

He comes back from wherever he was in his mind, and smirks at you before walking over and slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Damn, babes. You look good in my stripes.” He gives you a shit-eating grin and you blush and push him away playfully.

“Yeah, yeah. Can I go put comfy things back on before we get the chill environment set up? Suits are awesome, but they are not cuddling material.”

Jamie comes over and escorts you back to your room. “Of course.” She grins and you raise your eyebrows and poke her.

“I am going to kill you,” you whisper.

“Probably better not, if you want a warm cuddle buddy,” she counters.

You let out an exasperated breath. “You are impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me for it. Go get changed! I’m changing back into a hoodie myself. And hey, does Beetlejuice have any sweatpants or anything? Jeans get bunched up in the knees and shit. Cuts off circulation.”

“Well,” you start. “I’m not sure that’s a problem he has to worry about. But yeah, that’d be uncomfortable anyways. Um, I don’t know. Ask him? He seems to just have a stash of clothes in a pocket dimension or some shit. He probably has a way of getting some from somewhere.”

“Alright, cool.” And she leaves you to go get changed.

When you’re binderless and comfortably in your oversized dysphoria hoodie and leggings, you walk out to the living room and throw a bunch of pillows and blankets on the floor.

“Hey, Beej! Wanna go pick out a candle to burn?”

Your colorful demon friend blinks over to the table and back to stand in front of you, holding out a candle that smells like- “Pink Sands. Cool! I like this one,” you say, and light the wick. You lean over the candle to try and get a whiff of the scent, but only get a bit before you have to retreat in order to not burn your face.

“Heheh. Little impatient there, babes?”

“Ahh, shut up Beetlebug.”

Suddenly Jamie jumps out into the room. “The party has arrived! Hand me the controller, and get settled in, folks! I’m picking us out a show!”

You and BJ laugh and you toss your overly excited best friend the controller. She points to you then to the middle spot on the floor. “Beetlejug, you take one side. I will take the other.”

“Beetlejug?”

“Shut up. I’m not good with nicknaming shit like you are,” she retorts.

She puts on Disenchantment and leaves the controller up near the TV to go grab your guys’ bowl of popcorn, bag of chocolates, and energy drinks, then sits down to your right and leans back against the couch. You opt to angle your back toward her to lean your head on her shoulder, and cross your legs, sticking them over BJ’s. He scooches a little closer so you’re touching shoulders and almost the whole length of your legs are reaching overtop his own. You were right - he had some way of getting sweatpants and is wearing them for tonight (which looks odd to you probably because you’ve never seen him outside his striped suit much before today).

As the show goes on, the three of you start paying less and less attention to it as you focus more on your own conversations and munching on your snacks. Despite the energy drink, when midnight hits, you start to become slap-happy, and you find everything twice as funny as it probably actually is. By two o’clock, Jamie is snoring lightly and has fallen over onto her side, so you can no longer use her as a lean support. Netflix is displaying the “Are you still watching?” screen, and you mumble a complaint about having to get up, so BJ just just snaps the controller over to you. You thank him and switch over to Youtube to turn on rain sounds.

“What’s this for?” Beetlejuice asks.

“For sleeping,” you reply. “It’s much easier to fall asleep if it’s a black screen with white noise.”

“Ahh.”

You reach behind your head to put the controller on the couch, then pull the blanket up around you and lay your head down on Beej’s lap. “Oh,” he says. “Um, are you sleeping here?”

You look up at the mess that is his yellow, pink, and magenta hair, and say, “Yes. If you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re fine babes. … Um, sitting upright like this is gonna get tiring after a while though so.. Would you mind if I laid down instead?”

You sit up and pull a pillow over for him. You pat it, and he lays down and clears his throat, yellow overtaking the other colors for a moment. You give him a tired smile and lay back down in a little spoon formation. Your yawn elicits an amused chuckle from BJ, and he wraps his arms around you. “This okay?”

You nod and snuggle in.

“G’night, Beej, you colorful bastard,” you mumble.

He laughs. “G’night, babes.”

* * * * *

At some point during the morning, Jamie had crawled over to you. So when you wake up, you’re sandwiched between your best human friend and your best demon friend. You make a move to get up, and Jamie moans a protest. You shake your head and sit up anyway, rubbing your eyes before standing and tucking the blanket around her. You pick her up with a bit of difficulty because hey, you just got up, and carry her up the stairs to your bedroom where you unceremoniously dump her on the bed. You give her a kiss to the forehead and sigh. “Working and doing school things all the fucking time. Get the sleep. You need it.” Making sure one final time that the blanket is tucked around her and that your curtains are fully closed, you stumble back downstairs.

You go to look at the living room to see how much of a mess there is for you to clean up. But instead, your attention is drawn to a still-sleeping Beetlejuice.  _ Well, seemingly asleep. _ You take a few steps closer.  _ Should I? _

_ “ _ _ (Y/n) _ _.  _ _ No _ _ ,” your angel warns you again. _

_ “(Y/N). YES!” your demon roars. _

You squint and mentally tell your inner monologue to chill.  _ It is way too early to be that dramatic. _ But still you walk over to where BJ is laying and kneel down next to him. Tilting your head in silent thought, you run a hand through his hair and jump a little when he lifts his head to nuzzle into it. You question whether you woke him. But he doesn’t seem to be awake, so you lean down and give him a kiss on the forehead, the same way you did to Jamie. He makes a noise that could be mistaken for purring and you giggle, running your fingers through his hair a few more times before you get up and head toward the kitchen table with some solitaire cards. “Good morning, Beej.”

“Morning, babes.”

You jump, eyes wide. “Jesus Beejus!” You take a deep breath and rub your temples. You go to open the box of Bicycle cards and set up a game for yourself, and Beej walks over to you, chuckling and rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, you are too cute.”

Blushing darkly, you mutter back an irritated reply. “Am not. Did you even sleep? Do demons do that?”

Beetlejuice laughs again and sets his chin on your head, watching as you splay out your seven piles. “Occasionally. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good nap.”

You neglect to reply to that, instead focusing on moving your cards back and forth between piles at an impressive rate - for solitaire at least. Your housemate watches you silently for a few seconds, then covers your eyes with his hands.

“BJ! I kinda need those,” you whine.

“Shut up for a second.”

You sigh in irritation for what seems like the billionth time this morning, and wait as your housemate tilts your head back. You’re about to open your mouth to complain again when you feel lips hit your forehead, and your cheeks suddenly feel as though they’re on fire.  _ Okay, this is fine. This is fine. Don’t panic! … His lips are surprisingly soft. … Wait, what?! _

When he removes his hands from your face, you flutter your eyes open and blink up at a very close Beetlejuice, floating slightly above you. “What was-”

“Just returning the favor,” he says. And when he smiles, you can’t help but give him a small one of your own.

“Alright, Beetlebug. You’re on brunch duty. Whenever Jamie gets up, you can flip through the recipe book and pick out something to make.”

“Got it!” He gives you a big thumbs up and you smile and shake your head before going back to your solitaire game.

* * * * *

When Jamie comes down the stairs, BJ zips over to her and pats her on the head. Needless to say, you’re taken aback by the overly kind cheeriness that is now your stripey friend. But you don’t want to kill the mood, so you narrow your eyes and slowly refocus in on your twelfth solitaire game of the morning. Your best friend walks over to you and  _ whumpfs _ down in the chair next to you. Giving you a scrupulous look, she asks, “Don’t you ever get tired of that game?”

“Never,” you answer without looking up. “It’s a good time killer and doesn’t get boring as it gets more familiar. Card games are good for that.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. What are we having for breakfast?”

“Lunch, by now,” you correct. “And I don’t know. Beej, what are we having?” You gain a shrug from said demon and he disappears to reappear in an apron and chef’s hat. As he starts rifling through your cabinets, you give Jamie a morning hug and tell them both that you’re going to go paint in the back room.

“You’re not skipping meals today, (Y/n)!” The sentence definitely rings out as a bit threatening. But you brush it off and flip your beetle housemate the bird.

“Yeah, yeah, fuckface. I’mma go paint the moon with weird trippy drug colors now.”

“OOH! Let me know if you need any help with accuracy!”  
You hear Jamie’s voice as you turn down the hallway. “Wait, you’ve done drugs?”

“Well, when you’re halfway to dead, it’s not like there are any actual consequences.”

“Fair. But since I’ll never actually do them myself, may I ask: What does a trip look like?”

* * * * *

You’ve just finished putting your red-tipped paint brush in the water cup when Beetlejuice opens the door and leans in the room. “Bacon and french toast is done. Maybe not good, but they’re done.”

“Perfect timing,” you say, wiping your hands and standing up.

“Moon’s looking good.”

“Thanks, Beej. Still a long way to go, but it’s gettin’ there.”

Your eyes finally tear away from your work in progress to sweep over Beetlejuice. “I see you changed your outfit.”

“Did not!”

“Uh-huh. That didn’t say ‘Kiss the Cook’ last time I checked.” You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow at him playfully.

He raises an eyebrow back at you and taps a finger against the wall for a few seconds before swiveling on his heels and walking out, waving a spatula in the air. “Alright-io, Jamie. (Y/n)’s out of their painting room for the moment! Time to eat!”

“Whoo! Food!!”

You laugh. “Such a college mentality.”

“Hey, listen,” she says defensively while piling bacon on her plate. “When you eat nothing but ramen and hash browns for five months, you learn to appreciate literally anything else being cooked for you.”

“Remember to get some french toast too, you carnivore.”

“Make me,” she challenges. After getting an unimpressed stare as an answer, she sighs and shovels a piece of french toast on her plate, immediately asking where you keep the syrup. You get up and fish it out of the cabinet, handing it to her and asking if she wants any butter. “Nah, I’ll pass,” is the answer you get.

After brunch, you continue painting. You’re not quite half way through when you are interrupted by Jamie, who alerts you to the fact that it is five o’clock and would you like to eat something, because they’re reheating brunch and if you want any, you’ll have to get your ass in there.

You mull over your options for a bit before cleaning up your area on the floor and carrying your water and brushes out with you to the kitchen sink.

“Hey, babes. How’s it goin’?”

“Pretty good. Once I get the moon done, I’m going to do a small landscape at the bottom of the canvas, silhouette, and one bigger tree that comes up into the moon’s space so it looks cool and balanced, and you know - three dimensional and stuff.”

Your buggy friend puts a plate down in front of Jamie -  _ such an oddly domestic scene _ \- and waves you over. “You’re not going back to painting right after dinner.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause I’m a demon and I said so.”

“Fine. Wasn’t planning on it anyway.” You look out the window. “Hey, how about some real night owl activity? We could go on a walk, then come back and stargaze on the roof.”

Jamie points her fork at you. “ Yes . I love that idea. Let’s do that.” She pauses then gives you a look. “Aren’t you going to get dressed at all today?”

You purse your lips then answer, “Nah. My back needs a break from my binder, which means the dysphoria hoodie stays on. And I don’t really feel like changing only half of my outfit, so.”

“Fair.”

The three of you eat in relative silence and Jamie gets a call from her mom when you’re stacking up dishes to clean and put away, so she leaves to go to your room and shut the door for some privacy. A few seconds later, you hear her yell, “MOM SAYS HI!!!”

You yell back, “HI ELLEN!!!!” and giggle.

BJ looks at you, cups in hand, and smiles. You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow speculatively. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, babes.”

You walk over to put the plates and silverware in the sink and notice that he’s still wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron. “Still wearing that?”

He snaps and his matching chef hat appears on his head. “Yep!”

“One would think you’re trying to send a message, wearing it this long,” you tease him.

He smirks. “Maybe one is just performing some wishful thinking.”

“Oh really?” You bump his hip with yours. He splashes you with soapy water in retaliation. You laugh and start setting dishes aside to dry a bit until you can find a towel.

“Whatcha lookin’ for, babes?”

“A towel,” you say with a wrinkle between your eyebrows. You turn around and give him a ‘Really?’ look when you see that he’s smirking and trying not to laugh. “Did you hide them all?”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, babes, you haven’t exactly let me misbehave when we’re out in public. I need  something chaotic to do. … Just wait til you find all the other hidden shit!” He cackles, and you put your hands on your hips… Which apparently gives him the perfect space to blink over to you, scoop you up by your arms, and spin you around. You’re a bit disoriented, considering you’re pretty sure he’s not using his feet to spin and you’re going much too fast. But eventually, he sets you back down and you hang onto his arm to get your breath back before you trust your eyes enough to open them.

“Beej, what was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?” He waits for a second then bites his lip. “Should I have not?”

You shake your head slightly. “No, you’re okay. That was just really random. Threw me off, heh.”

He notices your hands still on his arms about the same time you notice you’re still staring at his lips, and you get curious.  _ What if I just _ \- You slide your hands up his arms and try to ignore both of your blushes as you make a really sudden move and snatch the chef’s hat off of his head. Your teasing victory smile is in place, and you reach your arm backward to try and keep the hat out of his reach. He pouts and gives an indignant, “Hey!” while you laugh.

At one point or another, you turn really quickly back towards him and stick your arms around his neck so he can’t reach behind himself to get the hat. But you lost your balance a bit too much, and he has to catch you at the hips to keep you both upright.

You didn’t realize how close you were before, but now you can see every minute detail, from the blush covering BJ’s cheeks to the flecks of brown in his green eyes, and as your gaze travels upward you see his green hair become more and more pink-  _ with magenta roots. What is that? What are either of these colors officially? _

“U-um. Babes,” BJ stutters.

“Shh,” you respond as your eyebrows furrow. You let go of the hat with one hand and reach up to smooth your hand through your friend’s locks. He closes his eyes and sighs, leaning into your touch slightly. When you bring your hand back to the front of his hair, he takes a hand off your hips to hold your hand to his cheek for a moment. And when he opens his eyes….

“Beej?”

…

* _ click _ *

“Whoops. The sound wasn’t supposed to be on.” You pull back and turn around to look at Jamie, clearing your throat and giving BJ’s hat back to him. Said bug’s hair is now profusely streaked with yellow.

“I’m gonna go- find my- yeah.” And with a snap, he’s gone.

You race at Jamie. “Give me that!”

“Nuh-uh! No way!!” She holds her phone out of your reach, and you struggle for more than a few minutes before reaching a temporary point of truce. Jamie sighs. “If you promise not to steal my phone or freak out… would you like to see it?” She grins at you. “You guys  are pretty cute.” You glare, but nod. She turns the phone on again and angles the screen toward you. “Am I right, or am I right?”

"No!" You sink down to the floor and groan. “Ugghghhh, Jamie  what was I thinking?”

“I don’t know. Probably something about your cute roomie.”

“Pfft. The roomie would be you at the moment.” You run your hands down your face. “I was curious about his hair, that’s all.”

Jamie squats down next to you. “Yeah, sure. That’s totally why you’re all, like, up close and in each other’s personal space with dreamy looks in your eyes, and pink blush literally everywhere. I mean, for Hades’s sake, (Y/n). How dense can ya be? I think it’s pretty obvious what those colors are by now.”

You shake your head. “Nope. It’s none of my business.” And you hide your head in your knees. “Is it dark yet? Can we go for a walk? Is the moon out? I need the moon.”

Jamie nudges you. “Yeah, we can go for a walk. It’s not quite dark, but it’ll get there soon. You want me to invite the bug?”

You sigh and look up in thought for a few minutes, keeping eye contact with Jamie the whole time, who is being - surprisingly - rather serious, and finally nod.

“Alright.” She stands up and slaps her thighs. “I’m still here for like, a whole week, or five days, or whatever. Plenty of time to get this mess figured out, yeah?” She holds out her hand to you, and you take it, standing up beside her.

“If you say so.”

**Author's Note:**

> I might actually try to animate a thing or do a series of drawings for BJ's different hair colors - that would be fun. What do you guys think?


End file.
